


The Worst Kind of Guilt

by DailyDaves



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-23 21:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DailyDaves/pseuds/DailyDaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael had been told he suffered from survivor’s guilt. He often wondered if Gavin did, as well. It’s been three years since a deadly and constantly mutating infection killed over fifty percent of the population, leaving humanity to decay and in a state of anarchy. Things are different, and adaption is the key to survival in a world where it’s everyone for themselves and humanity is everyone’s worst enemy. It’s been three years, and Michael has come to terms with things, only to experience them suddenly changing again as the life he’s built for himself is threatened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve obviously been playing too many video games. Gavin directly references one in a journal entry. I should note that this story does not focus on romance, though it’s there. I don’t know if I’d call it a post-apocalyptic zombie fic, but that’s pretty much what it is. Pay attention to dates. Rating may change depending on content. Cross posted on tumblr as gavirn!

"You're a little vandal bitch."

"Am I, Michael?"

It was a repeated conversation, one that they had every time Gavin found something to write with in an abandoned place, when the two of them would stop for long enough for Michael to watch Gavin write something on the wall. This time, like many others, Gavin was responding to others who'd left their mark on the walls of the abandoned subway station. Michael watched with unfounded curiosity as Gavin wrote on the wall with the permanent marker underneath another survivor's message.

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't think so. Why don't you write something fucking useful for a change?" His tone was the usual fake-annoyed, though in reality, he didn't mind. It was a form of communication, almost like a forum. It also gave their lives some sort of odd normalcy.

"Like what?" Gavin didn't turn away from what he was writing. Michael crouched down to get a better look at what he was responding to. Some idiot had written 'I hate zombies'. It was almost laughable to think that someone had taken time out of their day to write something so useless and obvious. Below, a fight had ensued in the form of writing, and Gavin was finishing up writing 'I love zombies' in large, red letters. Some people really never changed, and Gavin was one of those people. Michael just shook his head.

"Let's keep going. We should get in hiding by nightfall," Michael told him, eyeing the messages on the wall Gavin had already read over. Sure enough, some of them _were_ useful. Michael particularly appreciated the one that had a list of all the places WHO patrolled and when. "Wait. Give me the marker."

Silently, Michael sprawled 'Fuck WHO. Thanks for the info." And the two of them were on their way.

…

_World Health Organization Infected Persons Report Form_

_Name of infected person: Free, Gavin D._

_Route of infected person: Heading towards Chicago blockade_

_Date tested: August 1st, infection tested as positive and recently infected_

_Projected turn date: No later than August 4_ _th_

_Notes: Defiant and violent. Easily identifiable by accent. Traveling with non-carrier Jones, Michael V. High priority._

…

_September 23_ _rd_ _, 2016_

_Journal entry 1100_

_Things are looking up. Probably. Gav can walk. We decided to at least cover a little bit of ground today. He said he'd tell me when he was in too much pain to walk. He didn't. He's an idiot. We've decided to stay in a shelter that seems mostly intact. Gonna try to radio Griffon tomorrow and see if she can help. We're still in the subway system. Maybe we'll get out tomorrow if we can walk far enough. I don't think it's smart to go above ground for long._

…

_October 1_ _st_ _, 2016_

_Journal entry 1105_

_Gav seems to be feeling better. We're finally out of the subway system and on the outskirts of Chicago. Gav can walk pretty far now, but I'm still being careful. Haven't been able to radio Griffon or anyone yet, but the drop-off site should have a transmission site and maybe some penicillin, too. They said they had a smallpox outbreak and needed vaccines to prevent it, so I only hope they aren't totally overrun with it. I don't think it'd be a good idea for either of us to catch something like that._

_Gav told me today 'I was trying to think of a good sun joke, and then it dawned on me'. I think I'm going to start writing down every bad joke he tells me so I can show everyone at home. Barbara will be ecstatic._

…

"I think I hate being underground."

Gavin broke the silence around them, his voice echoing around the wreckage of the overpass highway leading into the city. It had only been what seemed like five minutes since Michael had last yelled at him for tripping and falling down a particularly large piece of cement that had fallen down, giving himself a huge gash on his forehead. Really, traveling with him was more like constantly having to take care of a child. It was a mild inconvenience, though. Michael had never seriously entertained the thought of leaving him for dead, and not only because traveling alone would be a shitty life.

"Yeah? Why's that?" Michael stopped walking, glancing up at the half-gone green road sign above the decimated highway. They were almost inner-city. Unsurprisingly, Chicago was just as shitty as it'd been back before _everything_ had gone to shit. Factories and broken-down apartments still lined the city limits, just as ugly as they had been before. It was no surprise. Gavin, however was shocked at how different it was from the remnants of Austin. Michael wondered why WHO even bothered with this place. 'World Health Organization' his ass.

Gavin took Michael's stopping as a sign to rest, sitting down on a fallen piece of cement that jutted up from the wreckage. "I like the sun much better 's all."

Michael couldn't agree more. Underground was safe, though. Both of them knew that all-too-well. They could safely travel along abandoned subway routes without the constant threat of violent militants keeping them 'in check'. Anyone outside the city limits was ordered to be detained or shot on site, which turned out to be a problem for the two of them. Though Gavin was more skilled with that crossbow than Michael would ever be with a firearm, they had a place to be and someone to meet and a time limit on getting there, so traveling underground proved to be the quickest and safest route. It was an unspoken understanding that they'd be traveling underground on the way back, too, no matter how much they both hated it.

"We're almost to the drop off site, aren't we?" Gavin glanced away, towards the towering buildings that still stood amongst the reminders of a better time that both of them still remembered clearly. "It's just inside the city, innit? We could be there by tomorrow."

"Yeah, if you hurried the fuck up and stopped hurting yourself every two steps," Michael's hostility was clearly for show. Even if looking after him was a giant pain in the fucking ass, Gavin wasn't a useless companion. He couldn't shoot any type of firearm for his life, but _goddamn_ he was painfully accurate and quick with his crossbow, something that Michael had been shocked to discover, given the fact that he'd been horrible shooting anything in video games, back when they'd still produced content for the internet. He wasn't useless and his company wasn't _completely_ unbearable.

Gavin took the hint, getting up again and continuing to follow Michael in his path through the wreckage, trailing only a couple steps behind him despite recent injuries. He spoke again shortly after getting to his feet, and Michael knew he didn't like the silence, "Do you think they bombed here, too?"

"They bombed everywhere. Why else would we be walking around on what used to be a highway?"

"Do you think it worked here?"

Michael turned and fixed Gavin with a look of disbelief, "It didn't work anywhere, Gav. Not Austin, not New York, and definitely not here."

Michael preferred Gavin over anyone else for a variety of reasons. For one, he could defend himself. He also had a larger understanding of scientific things than most survivors did—which, again, was a surprise. But most of all, he was interesting to talk to. Not much mattered to Gavin. There wasn't a lot that he could actually be bothered to deal with. As a result, he ended up as someone who accepted what was and didn't live in constant fear of Infected. He was the person who'd probably adapted the fastest, because Gavin simply couldn't be bothered with the question of 'how to get things back to normal?' when it'd been clear to him that things would never be the same. Because of this, he wasn't someone who constantly dwelled in the past. He wasn't obsessed with going back to how things were, but he was instead interested in the 'how' and 'why' things were how they were. It made him a lot easier to talk with than someone who constantly reminisced about their past lives.

For a moment, they picked their way around the wreckage in silence, carefully avoiding sharp edges of concrete and wires that could still be charged. And then, "Sun's going down. Drop off can wait until tomorrow, can't it? We've been walking all day."

Gavin didn't complain often, and when he did, it was usually a sign that he was hiding some serious pain. Given what had happened just a few weeks ago, that wasn't all that odd. Wordlessly, Michael nodded, and began looking for someplace safe to stay.

…

_September 30_ _th_ _, 2016_

_Entry 334_

_Spores_

_We travelled through another hospital today. Everything was abandoned and nothing was out of the ordinary at first glance. Michael looked for pain medication and I wandered around and found the laboratory. I've included pages of the medical journals I found. They describe the early research of the infection, before it infected a large amount of people. This is the earliest research I've found so far. I'd like to look further into this, since they immediately labeled it as dangerous and complex. It's also noteworthy that it was noticed quickly that it was constantly mutating and growing. Like other sources I've seen, it reports that it was first found in primates._

_The testing room in the lab had some really heavy spores, too. Probably the heaviest I've ever seen. It was hard for even me to breathe in, since the air was so thick with them. I looked at one under a microscope and it looks larger and more mutated than other spores. It's most likely older. I've included a drawing of what it looks like below._

_Michael was angry that I wouldn't let him look. Didn't want to take the chance of him breathing any of that in, even with a mask on. Will report more if I find any odd Infected near the hospital._

…

_September 30_ _th_ _, 2016_

_Entry 335_

_Spores (continued)_

_Found our way out of the hospital after a scare today. We encountered a new Infected today, like I thought we might. I managed to get a good look at it before it went mad. Seems like this guy has been here since before the beginning. More than three years. From what I could see of remnants of clothing, it looked like some sort of patient or test subject. Could be either or, though Michael suggested patient, while I'm guessing test subject. We ended up betting over it. Anyways, it looked pretty ravished by fever, which I thought disappeared after the infection takes over. It was making this constant crying noise from inside its chambers. I've never heard an Infected make such a human noise. It was honestly a bit creepy._

_It's face was in a later stage of deformation than any other infected I've seen. There were busted welts all over its skin, and the fungus growing on what had once been a face. Like others I've seen that've been infected for ~2 years, this one had welts and fungus-y shit growing over its eyes. It was obviously blind and agitated, from the crying noises. Michael then knocked over a cart and startled it. It suddenly went mad, lunging at us and nearly breaking the glass of the room it was in. We got out of there pretty quick._

_The crying reminds me of the Witch._

…

"What do you write about in there?"

The question surprised Michael and he glanced up from writing in his journal, penning a short entry about what'd gone on today, the header of the entry reading October 1st. He wrote nearly every day, and had since Griffon had suggested that it might help ease some of his guilt and anxiety. He'd been shocked when venting his feelings out had helped immensely and he'd just never stopped. Gavin often watched, lying propped up on the floor-bed they had set up, and Michael didn't mind. There wasn't anything really private between them, anyways.

"You watch me write. You should know," He went back to writing, finishing off his first sentence.

"Well. You know. I don't read it. I just like to watch you write. I read once that watching someone write is calming."

Michael didn't pause to look back at him, "Is it?" He didn't recall when Gavin had started watching him write or why, just like he didn't remember when a lot of other things between them started.

"Yeah, sure. I wouldn't sit here and watch if it wasn't. What do you write about?" He asked again, and Michael stopped for a moment, thinking of a way to phrase it. He wrote about a lot of things, and varied from writing about what was happening to what he thought about what was going on. His journal entries had gotten shorter over the years, as his guilt began to ease and he started to get used to things, but he still wrote the occasional long entry when he worried too much about something. He'd learned over time how to start talking to people, as well, and that sometimes took the place of writing out his thoughts and emotions

"Lots of things. What happens, what I worry about, where we go, you," That covered most of the topics. Michael jotted down a couple more words. "All the stupid jokes you tell me. You should write in yours more."

He already knew the answer to that. Gavin said it anyways. "Nah. I never know what to write. I've had that thing for over two years now and I've only about a hundred entries in there."

"You write in your science journal all the time," Michael pointed at the book at Gavin's side of the bed, one that he often saw him writing in at night.

"That's different. I don't have to sort out what I'm thinking when I'm writing in that. It's easier."

Michael bit back the reply that was on the edge of his lips. He'd had that conversation before with Gavin, and it never ended well. It started as soon as Michael said the words 'it could help' and ended when Gavin got so frustrated in denying whatever he thought Michael was implying that his voice was straining as he shouted and yelled and it was _Michael_ who had to tell him to keep it down. That conversation had been left alone a year ago, and Michael treaded lightly around it. There were times, though, like right now, that both of them knew that it was right _there_ , hanging over them in the air as neither one of them spoke the words.

"Look," Gavin was the first to break off eye contact, glancing away from Michael. "I'll do it if you want me to."

"Hey, no," He shook his head, fixing him with a serious look. "You have to want to do it. If just watching me is enough, then that's fine. Don't be a fucking idiot and say shit like that. I don't want you to do anything just because I want you to. I swear to god, you're dumb as dicks sometimes."

Then Gavin smiled and Michael was about to ask him what was so fucking funny when he laughed and said, "Sounds like we're talking about some other activity entirely, doesn't it?"

Michael then proceeded to throw his leather-bound journal at him and beat him with his own pillow.

Later, though, Michael came back from a small adventure to find more blankets for the cold October night and found Gavin staring blankly at his own journal, and he left again, leaving him to his own devices for a while to sort out whatever went on in that head of his. He returned to find him in the same spot, now with a few crumpled papers at his feet and only a few sentences jotted down. Michael suggested they go to bed and Gavin was quicker than usual to agree.

…

_October 1_ _st_ _, 2016_

_Entry 117_

_Lost a bet to Michael the other day. I owe him the dick money when we get home now. I think this is the fifth time it's changed hands during this trip._

_Science journal is coming along nicely. Michael says I should write in this one more, though I don't understand the point. He won't tell me directly if he wants me to or not. It's frustrating._

…

It was amazing how fast things could change.

Amazing how a person could go from working their dream job and being surrounded by their best friends to hiding, panicked and terrified as an infection took hold of the entire world. Amazing, how he could go from hanging out with friends to holding a gun to one of their heads, hesitating to pull the trigger as he wondered if they were still in there, or if the infection had already killed them. It had literally happened in one night, and that night had started with a party at the office celebrating the company's birthday and had ended with Gavin forcibly dragging him, kicking and screaming, to a safe-house Michael didn't believe he belonged in.

Sometimes, he wondered if Gavin still had nightmares about the night, when he had pulled the trigger when Michael couldn't, putting a bullet straight through the skull of someone who'd been their friend. He wondered how much Gavin thought about the past and how much he missed it. He rarely spoke about, sometimes laughing in an almost nostalgic way whenever he came across someone who'd written 'I miss the internet' on a wall, usually near a graffiti argument or referencing something that'd been said a lot in forums. Michael would never know what it was like to be in Gavin's head, but sometimes he could take guesses, and the only conclusions that he came up with were that it must be hard for him. After all, he'd been the quickest to adapt, and thus, the only person who hadn't hesitated with the thought of 'what if this person is still in there?' when that fateful night had arrived. By the end of that night, Gavin had ended up with a lot of familiar blood on his hands.

"How'd you do it?" Michael remembered asking him one night. He hadn't expected an answer.

"I knew those people. They weren't in there anymore. And if they were, they were suffering."

And that had been the first and last time Gavin had ever spoken about it.

No one had ever held it against him. The reason a lot of people had gotten infected or died was because of the refusal or hesitance to kill their loved ones, or the shell that had once held them. Gavin had been one of the smart ones. He hadn't hesitated. He'd recognized the threat and hadn't gone through the shock of it. He'd been the one to kill the sick things that had once been their friends, and he'd saved a lot of people by not hesitating in doing so.

Michael had been told he suffered from survivor's guilt. He often wondered if Gavin did, as well.

"Don't you miss how things used to be?!" Another survivor had once shouted at Gavin during an argument with him, clearly fed up with his carefree attitude.

"Bloody hell, maybe if you people stopped thinking about that so much you'd actually get something done for once!"

And that was when they'd stopped traveling during drop-offs with other survivors. Gavin didn't get along well with them. Michael wondered if it was because he felt bad about not being able to save the loved ones the other survivors talked about so much. After all, Gavin had been the one to pull the trigger when Michael couldn't.

It was amazing how fast things could change.

Anyone who couldn't adapt was left for dead. It wasn't a choice of those around them, but a necessity. With the way things were, no one could lag behind. Things happened fast. They were placed under martial law. Gavin tried desperately to get back to England or contact his overseas family. Michael stayed put in Austin. The day all hope was lost was the day the explosions started, and the day Gavin's flight was supposed to be. The airport was determined to be a breeding ground overrun with the infection, and it was one of the first places bombed out in an attempt to eradicate it. Michael still remembered the first few weeks well—all the confusion, the orders given by the military keeping them under control, the anger, and the grief. He remembered being evacuated and having to stay with the Ramseys, and how in the middle of the night, a soldier came banging at the door with orders to detain all foreigners. He remembered thinking how it wasn't fair, how none of this was fair.

"Your interrogation techniques are bloody brutal," Was all Gavin said when he was shoved through the door a couple days later by the same soldier who'd detained him, his face bruised and bleeding. "Could've been a bit less rough there, lad."

He'd been hit on the back of the head for that comment, un-handcuffed and left in the Ramsey's care yet again, and still, no one was sure how he'd avoided getting deported or shot. He never talked about what happened when he'd been detained, or how he'd somehow talked the military into letting him go. They learned later that Barbara had also been detained that night, but let go in the same way. Michael couldn't shake the suspicion that Gavin had something to do with that.

Things really started to change from there. The remainder of the company stuck together. People started to adapt. The infection got worse, branching off and mutating. Michael lost contact with his family in New Jersey, and to his knowledge, Gavin never heard a single word from his. Strict martial law was enforced. WHO, the World Health Organization, became the governing force, partnering up with the UN for armed forces. People weren't let outside city limits. A cure was found, and then found to do jack shit to cure anything. He remembered listening to the announcements on the radio about how 'the cure was found to be ineffective in humans' and how that had surprised no one. Food was rationed. People were constantly angry. Groups formed, disbanded, and fought. It was anarchy.

It was amazing how things changed so quickly.

Three years. It'd been just over three years since that night when it all started. All around cities and back alleys were the painted words 'It's not a flu!', serving as a constant reminder of how it all started. They'd been told it was a simple flu. A strain of the bird flu or whatever bullshit they'd put on the news. Next thing they knew, people were convulsing, their heartbeats and most brain activity stopping dead, their eyes going insane, the infection taking them over. For lack of a better word, they were zombies, though not the type in video games, when that'd been the biggest game fad. Exposure to the fungus was deadly. Breathing it in could infect a person almost immediately. The first stage was symptoms of a flu, a rash where the exposure or bite had been, which slowly spread until the fever overtook and killed that person, the rash creating a disgusting, disfigured shell of a person.

But that wasn't what Michael considered their worst enemy. It was humanity. People. People were—maniacs, to say the least. Survival took over in times like this. People were dangerous. And power was something everyone strove for in this reality. It wasn't just stragglers and loners Michael considered enemies. It was other survivors. It was the military. It was anyone he hadn't met before all this started. Things were different. Things had changed.

Maybe they'd changed, as well. Michael liked to think not, but when faced with it, he couldn't deny it. Gavin was still the annoying idiot he'd always been and Michael was still the easy-to-anger person _he'd_ always been. Things had changed, though, as time went on. The two of them played into the power game that had become necessary for survival, but Michael liked to think it was different, that they still held onto some sort of humanity. The biggest evidence for that was the fact that they worked together, not alone, and with no ulterior motives. By now, people who did things like they did usually worked alone or with another person only when forced to do so. Regular socialization was a strange occurrence, and the constant conversations Gavin and Michael carried on were an extremely rare sight in others. It was mostly everyone for themself, which had resulted in people caring about no one but themselves.

It was amazing to think about how much had changed.

It was a materialistic society. More ration cards meant more power. More firearms meant more power. More medicine meant more power. And people were willing to give a lot for dangerous jobs.

If Michael made a list about everything that reminded him that he was still human, Gavin's companionship would be on it. So would the fact that he wasn't doing these drop-offs for himself. The company had always been more than a place to work. It'd been a family. And because of that, there was no way he could abandon them. Things got bad. Rations were low. The military was doing jack shit about the spores that polluted the air of many buildings and the rise of Infected. Infections of influenza and other things that had been common at one point broke out. Things were bad, no one could do anything about it, and Gavin had been convincing.

"It's illegal and dangerous. I'm not going, and I'm not letting you go," He'd told Gavin the first time he came to him with the offer someone had given him.

"People are starving and sick, Michael. It's a lot of ration cards."

Gavin put on a good show of being an idiot, but in reality, he was manipulative and had an impeccable talent of convincing others, and there was no way to argue the simple points he brought up. Besides, there was no way to stop him when he had his mind set on something, and Michael wasn't about to let him go alone. The first time had been rough—they were supposed to take a message just beyond the city barricade and deal with anyone who didn't comply. Michael hadn't known what that meant at the time, and Gavin wouldn't tell him the message, but the first time he saw Gavin shoot an arrow through someone's chest without even flinching, he understood what was going on and what Gavin was willing to give for the survival of those he cared about. That first time was messy and confusing, and now, two years later, things always went a lot better.

That first job had been a strange one, too. Usually, they just traveled to different cities to drop off medicine, messages, or ammunition. They barely ever got a 'take out whoever doesn't like it' type of thing. The pay was good, too. Within the rest of the company, there was always more than enough to go around, and they had protection, as well, since they'd made friends in the right places through this. It'd become second nature—traveling from city to city and back home, dealing with the military and loners, but even the fact that it came so naturally was strange to think about. After all, they'd gone from playing games and making videos for a living to, well, _this._

What was this? Michael didn't exactly know, but he liked to think he was doing something important. He was definitely helping people, most of the time, at least. And it wasn't the worst thing. Sometimes he'd bitch and moan about it, but it was actually a lot more enjoyable and exciting than living under martial law. Not being allowed to leave the city was, to say the least, extremely boring. That was probably part of the reason Gavin had wanted to do this sort of stuff in the first place. Michael knew from experience that Gavin hated being forcibly cooped up anywhere, and he was quick to get stir-crazy. It was nice to be able to travel and go where they wanted, without curfew or limits to where they could go, or even without soldiers around any corner. As much as he bitched about things, this was probably the most preferable way of living.

Things had changed, but definitely not everything.

This was their first time headed to Chicago. They were set to drop off medication they'd had to take from an abandoned hospital after a little community recently had a smallpox scare. They had a set way of doing things. Gavin did whatever negotiating was necessary with both the military and the people they were meeting. Michael usually hid out somewhere above with some sort of firearm in case something went awry and Gavin got cornered or overwhelmed. Things usually worked out pretty well unless someone brought out a scanner for infection, which was how things got bad a couple weeks back, pushing their drop-off date further back. Turned out, people in the Midwest did not like convincing British men who refused to be scanned. That was unsurprising, really.

Tonight happened to be one of those sleepless nights. Those had been happening a lot lately. With Gavin injured, Michael worried a lot. It wasn't that they had to slow down. That was fine. Their time limit was still about a week away. It was the fact that Michael knew next to nothing about medicine. He didn't know what to do if there was an infection or if it wasn't healing properly. They'd gotten really lucky health-wise so far, until now. It was stressful, especially since Gavin didn't talk about himself a whole lot, leaving Michael to guess when he was in pain.

Things had changed between them in the three years, too. Michael wasn't sure how to describe it or the relationship they had, but things had changed.

Gavin slept curled up against Michael's back, his head resting in the nape of his neck, the stench of antiseptic filling up the room still, though not as strong as before. His barely functioning watch let him know it was nearly three in the morning, and that he should probably get to sleep if he wanted to be functional tomorrow. He could feel Gavin's breath against his skin, and it was comforting but did nothing to sooth his nerves. The same thing that had happened a few weeks ago could very well happen again, and the thought of that wouldn't leave his mind. He let his eyes close, a memory filtering back to him of the day he'd found out about what Gavin was constantly hiding.

A year and a half ago

'What the fuck is this?!' He could still remember screaming at Gavin in shock, shoving him away, furious and suddenly tempted to punch him in the goddamned face. He had snatched his arm, digging his nails in just below the rash that Michael had seen too many times before, but never on Gavin. "Is this why you fucking tested positive?!"

He could remember that, too. A WHO troop had caught them and scanned them. He remembered the horror he'd felt when Gavin had scanned positive for infected. He remembered telling himself it was a false positive, and then feeling his heart drop when they scanned him again, testing positive again. He remembered the hushed whispers of the soldiers and then his own finger pulling the trigger as they took aim for his handcuffed best friend, killing both the soldiers and then running with Gavin in tow.

'But Michael—'

He also remembered being panicked and shoving Gavin around as soon as they got someplace safe, demanding an explanation, and then stopping dead in his tracks as soon as Gavin pushed up the sleeve of his shirt, showing Michael the rash and then tried to explain—

'Bullshit! You're a fucking idiot. You made a promise to me that you'd tell me if you ever got infected. Don't fucking tell me that's two weeks old. We both know no one lasts more than three days.'

And he should've realized it by looking at the rash itself. It looked old. It didn't look right. Gavin had never had the flu or the fever that preceded the complete takeover of the infection. It was two weeks old by that point. And to prove his point a day after their fight over it, Michael had watched Gavin breathe the fungal spores that clouded the air of a devastated building without any effects on him, when Michael had needed a gas mask. Now it was a year and a half later and Gavin's rash was still at the same stage as before.

There was only one explanation—whatever this infection did, Gavin was completely immune to it.

The problem was that he still tested positive.

Which had led to disaster a couple months ago. He'd been forcibly scanned, and Michael hadn't been quick enough. The test had been positive, and, as protocol, the soldier running the test shot to kill Gavin, missing badly as Gavin tried to run and putting a bullet into his leg, just below his hip, instead. It had definitely set them back about a month, and they'd only recently started traveling again, and even now it was hard for Gavin to walk too far. There were medical facilities around to treat him, sure—most hospitals had closed down but there were still some military-run medical clinics—but he couldn't be taken to any of those. Anyone who tested positive for Infected was shot on-site without any exceptions.

Another problem was that Gavin stuck out like a sore thumb. He had a heavy accent. When the infection had started, the government had suspected it had been biological warfare and rounded up anyone with a visa, a green card, or a passport and interrogated them. From there, they were either deported or, if they tested positive (which was before Gavin had become a carrier for it), killed to avoid spreading it to other parts of the world. Foreigners were almost completely unheard of. Gavin and Barbara were the only ones Michael had heard of who'd come back. Needless to say, Gavin's accent made him stick out. It was obvious he wasn't from here, and that made people, especially the military, watch him closer. It also made him subject to 'random' screenings, where he always found a way to bribe his way out of.

Michael couldn't shake the worry that the rest of the WHO troops around here had been alerted that there was a defiant pre-infected carrier on the loose who'd soon turn and wreak havoc. Part of him focused even more about the prospect that they'd figured out why Gavin, who'd been scanned positive many times, hadn't turned. He couldn't stop imagining footsteps stomping down the hallway of the abandoned hotel, coming to look for them. Michael had been sure to navigate them through dead subway tunnels and sewers that hadn't been used in years and anywhere else underground, but they had to be above ground for a bit, and despite how nice it was to be outside of damp, musty tunnels, it made Michael anxious. He felt vulnerable and out in the open now. It would be alright if it wasn't for the fact that they couldn't move very fast or agilely. They could usually take care of themselves out here, but it was a little hard when Gavin was injured. He could only hope that the drop-off group would offer some sort of help to them, but that seemed unlikely, given the fact that they'd traveled from Austin to give them smallpox vaccines. It didn't seem likely that they'd have much to help them with.

The room still stunk of the cleaning solution, despite it having been hours since treating him. It was an annoying scent, and Michael couldn't sleep, yet he was exhausted.

Survivor's guilt was something Michael still struggled with. It was getting better, though. However, watching Gavin get shot had brought on a new bout of it. That feeling of helplessness, of guilt over not doing anything when he could've, the feeling of 'it should have been me instead' had returned. He hadn't been there when he should've, and Gavin had gotten hurt because of it, and now his injury was all Michael could think about. Even though he seemed to be healing well, he still constantly worried over the prospect of a bacterial infection that could potentially be deadly.

He should've been ready. In their exchanges, their roles were clear and they were used to them. If Gavin couldn't talk his way out of something, Michael was supposed to be ready for a fight. It worked nearly every time. It wasn't like this was the first time Gavin had gotten cornered. It'd happened many times before, but this time—maybe it'd just happened too fast. Michael had been in a place he hadn't been able to see too well, and that soldier had been experienced and quick. Nevertheless, he still felt like he could've prevented it, and because of that, he kept replaying things in his head as he waited for sleep to come to him.

Behind him, he felt a shudder and a sudden jolt as Gavin startled himself awake. It was a common thing for Gavin to sleep fitfully, something Michael had just gotten used to over the years, and from time to time, he always wondered why Gavin could never sleep fully through the night. His only guess was nightmares, which Michael had summed it up to.

"You're still awake," It was a quiet statement muttered against the nape of Michael's neck. He felt Gavin relax against him again, free from whatever stress had startled him out of his sleep.

"'You're still awake'," Michael mocked in a hushed tone, copying Gavin's accent. "No shit I'm still awake. I can't sleep."

"Why?" Gavin sounded half asleep. He probably wouldn't remember this conversation in the morning or be able to carry it on for much longer. "'s because we're sleeping on the floor, innit?"

Michael almost felt like laughing because he _swore_ Gavin always was ten times more British when he was barely awake. "No, I'm just stressed about tomorrow. Go back to sleep, shit-head."

And with that, Gavin laughed and nuzzled his shoulder, settling down with an arm thrown over him, and Michael thought that maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to sleep now.

Sleeping was the biggest challenge they faced. It was a matter of finding the right place, somewhere that had to be safe from hunters, military, and infected, a place that was secure but also easy to get in and out of without much noise or trouble. They usually opted for abandoned hotels or high-rise apartments when they weren't underground, as they'd found that people were less likely to search a place with a lot of rooms than they were to search something like an abandoned house. Despite sleeping in a place that usually had furniture in it, they always slept on the floor. It was easier to pack things up quickly then, and left less of a footprint telling where they'd been.

Michael could only vaguely remember a time, back when they'd traveled with groups, when they slept apart. He also remembered that time as the time when nightmares badly plagued him and on nights when he couldn't sleep, he'd toss and turn and have no way of getting comfortable. There were a lot more sleepless nights back then, not just for him, but for Gavin, too. There were too many times to count when Michael would find Gavin away from the group, sitting up by himself, lost in whatever reality he lived in. Things were different now. Things were better.

Silently, Michael's hand found Gavin's arm around him. He pushed up the sleeve of the sweatshirt he slept in and traced the slightly scarred-over rash on his arm, just as he had many times before, as he thought about how odd it was that they'd made a life for themselves out here. His fingertips brushed over the scar tissue, and for a split second, the familiar anxiety that Gavin _wasn't_ immune passed over him, and he had to remind himself again that it'd been a year and a half. He used to worry so much about that. Every day, he'd find himself panicking and looking to make sure that it wasn't getting any worse. He had a feeling he'd never be completely reassured.

So now Gavin had survived almost being killed or deported, being infected, and being shot. It was almost funny.

His hand settled over the rash on Gavin's arm after a few moments, and he had a lurking suspicion that his rhythmic movements on his skin had put him right back to sleep. Despite not being able to sleep well, Michael was comfortable, unlike the sleepless nights he'd spent before they broke off to travel alone. He'd be a bit slower than usual tomorrow from lack of sleep, but other than that, spending the night like this wasn't bad. Still, he tried to quiet his thoughts and willed sleep to come to him.

…


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael knows what it means to be a survivor, and he’s learned the hard way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and stuff! Remember to pay attention to dates!

"You have more teeth than you're supposed to, Michael," Gavin informed him the next morning as Michael looked for the way they'd come last night. They had stayed pretty high up in the abandoned building and the stairs were unstable and blocked off by furniture and crumbling cement from the building's exterior. It'd been dark when they'd found their way up here, and it was difficult to remember the path when all Michael had had was a shitty flashlight.

"Yeah? And how do you know that?" Michael glanced at him, raising an eyebrow before going back to trying to retrace his steps. He took a turn down a hallway, nearly turning back when he saw that the floor had a hole in it that dropped down to the next floor. Beyond that was nothing—the back wall and whatever rooms were supposed to be there had been blown out, plaster, wiring, and broken glass the only indication that something other than a giant fucking hole to the outside had been there.

"I counted last night," As usual, Gavin followed him. Michael noticed a heavier limp in his step than usual and wondered if he'd pushed him too hard last night. Part of him just wished that Gavin would _tell_ him when he was being pushed too hard, but he suspected he had too much pride for that.

Michael just shook his head, "You're embarrassing." But he laughed anyways and stepped around the hole in the floor towards the blown-out wall. This place was so close to the bombing sites that it'd suffered a lot of the damage, with walls falling down and floors and ceilings caved in.

"Careful, Michael," Gavin sounded more serious than before as Michael went closer.

"Relax. I'm fine," He didn't go any further, instead glancing down as he stood at almost the edge of the hallway, looking out at the city that sprawled out before him, at the barricade he could see not too far away from the hotel entrance, at the tiny people guarding it. They were far up, near the top floors, and Michael could see nearly everything—the fallen overpass debris they'd walked over yesterday, the deserted subway station they'd left, even the graffiti on the walls across the torn up street. It was surreal, and Michael let himself reflect on things for a minute. With a view like this, it was obvious that stuff had gone to shit quickly. Things were torn up everywhere, windows broken, stuff strewed across streets, parts of buildings blown to bits or wrecked. This city had never been pretty, but it hadn't been like this last time he'd been here.

He allowed himself a moment of reflection to think about things, but he wouldn't let himself be sad or angry. That was a time long past, and like it or not, things were different.

"That's one hell of a view," Gavin commented, coming up behind him.

Michael nodded in agreement, "You're telling me, man." He felt Gavin's hand on his arm, and he let something wordlessly pass between them, letting the moment linger thoughtlessly before he was forced to have it pass and return to what he'd come here to do in the first place. He pointed at a stairwell leading down by a building, knowing that Gavin would be unhappy with what he was about to suggest, "Looks like we can get back underground over there. Barricade's about a mile away. We should be able to pass right under it and avoid any soldiers in the subway system if we're careful."

As he expected, Gavin just groaned dramatically. Michael rolled his eyes, telling him, "Don't be a little bitch about it."

…

_May 5_ _th_ _, 2014_

_Entry 134_

_Met some douchebag while traveling with the group today. He joined right up with us. He immediately recognized Gavin and me. He's one of those people who never shuts the fuck up and has one of those faces that make me want to punch him. He won't stop talking to Gavin about old videos. He sort of stays away from me but thinks he's all buddy-buddy with Gavin. I can tell Gavin's really frustrated. He keeps trying to get away from him, but the goddamn kid won't leave him alone._

…

This October was harsh. That much was clear, and even though they were underground, chill nipped at them, leftover from the harsh winds they experienced while above ground. Michael's shitty flashlight served as the only light-source between them, all of the lights in the subway having been blown out. Gavin walked on the tracks, Michael just behind him, both of them completely silent in case of company down here, something that gave Michael time to reflect on things.

On their way to the subway station, they'd encountered a group of survivors traveling together. There'd been about seven of them, a couple of them donning easily recognizable Jersey accents. Someone in their group had been injured. They'd seen Gavin and Michael as soon as Michael had seen them, and they'd stopped their arguing to beg for help. They hadn't stayed for long. One moment, he'd hesitated to turn his attention to the group, and the next, Gavin was digging his nails into his skin and pulling him away without even glancing at the group.

 _You live or you die_ , Michael had to remind himself. He still forgot sometimes.

"All they do is fight," Gavin had told him without looking back. Michael knew what he meant. Helping wasn't worth it, and so any materials or resources given to them were a waste. Experience had told that traveling like that never worked out. That injury had most likely been caused by inner fighting, by some guy saying the wrong thing and then getting the shit kicked out of him. Michael saw it happen all the time. Every day, almost, and part of him always wondered what made their little duo different.

There'd been a time they'd traveled in groups. It'd been a time when Michael was still too sick with grief and guilt to be able to adapt in anyway at all. He'd been one of them, one of those people who always talked about the people he lost, wallowing in his pity and constantly wanting to be swallowed by the memories he had. He hadn't been able to fend for himself or really be able to realize what was going on. He'd fought it, not wanting to live in the present and maybe, just maybe, he'd been able to survive because Gavin had kicked his goddamn ass back to reality every fucking day and he'd been forced to realize things weren't going back to normal.

It sounded harsh. It sounded horrible, being constantly reminded by someone he cared about that this was how things were and he had to fucking get used to it, but it wasn't. It was reality. And he was continuously pushed and shoved until he accepted it and left behind his job, his family, and the perfect world he'd lived in before. He'd learned how to survive and fend for himself. Others, however, hadn't been able to do that. They lived in a state of denial, as they had for three years. Gavin had gotten fed up with Michael's self-pity and denial and had made him move along into the next stage of grief, but a lot of people hadn't moved on. The world got more and more shitty every day, and the problem with those kinds of people was that they believed that it'd suddenly just turn around and go back to how it was before.

"It's frustrating, isn't it?" Michael asked as they ducked into a secure room that looked like it had once been some sort of control room. Gavin slumped against the wall as Michael closed the door. "Seeing those people like that." He didn't know if he should expect a reply or not.

"Drives me mad."

Michael didn't have to ask why. Though he had a stigma for being angry and loud, other survivors had some sort of talent because their begging for pity sent Gavin over the edge, even now that they steered clear of groups of traveling survivors. Gavin _despised_ them after having to put up with them for so long. Michael had lost count of the number of times he'd gotten into vicious arguments with others over various things, his patience quickly wearing thin whenever there was talk of the past or sessions of 'you should feel more sorry for _me_ '. Gavin didn't belong. They'd both realized that a long time ago.

"There's going to be people up here, Michael," For a reason Michael couldn't pinpoint, Gavin sounded both apprehensive and frustrated. He wondered if he should just sum it up to soreness and pain or if Michael's comment had triggered something inside of him. Was he afraid Michael was going to fuck something up again?

"It'll be alright," Was all he could say. So often he wondered what went on in Gavin's head. Had he ever suffered in the same way Michael did? He always had a lingering notion that Gavin was still suffering, just not in the same way. "Let's keep going."

…

_May 6_ _th_ _, 2014_

_Entry 135_

_Douchebag got his shit handed to him today. For the record, he had it coming. He got ten times worse today. He kept talking about Ray and asking where he was, and he wouldn't let up when Gavin stopped saying anything to him. He called him 'Vav' and Gavin turned around and decked him right in the fucking face. I'm not really sure what happened from there, but Gavin was yelling and fighting and he wouldn't stop hitting the goddamn kid and I don't think I've ever seen him so upset in my life. I don't think he would've stopped if I hadn't pulled him off. I think that kid would've been dead, to be completely honest. I've never seen Gavin fight like that._

_I think he misses ray a lot. I wonder if he regrets it._

_I gave him a spare journal to write in. Maybe it'll help whatever he's going through. I watched him write the date and the entry number and then he just sort of started staring out the window in the house we're staying out. Douchebag has a broken nose, black eyes, and some broken facial bones. Group Leader's angry at Gavin and he's not allowed in the basement saferoom for tonight. I don't think it's fair to jeopardize his safety just because some idiot thought it'd be funny to push Gavin over the edge. Douchebag thought it was hilarious that I'm staying with him. I told him I'd fuck him up worse than Gavin did if he didn't shut the hell up._

_Group Leader suggested that it might be best for me to abandon Gavin's company and leave him to fend for himself. I made it clear that that thought has never been even considered and it never will be. I think I'd still be stuck in past like every other survivor if it wasn't for him. Group Leader just doesn't like Gavin. He argues too much with other survivors. He's too manipulative and unpredictable. I honestly like the leader about as much as the other survivors—not much. Maybe even less. Everyone keeps talking about getting things back to normal and about how much they missed family members and friends. That's all they ever talk about. They never laugh or joke around. They're living in the past and they can't move on or adapt. It's annoying to hear about 'the way things used to be' or 'trying to find so-and-so so they can start going back to the past'. Everyone's like that._

_And I think that's why not many survivors like Gavin. He's moved on. He's more interesting than the others. He's tolerable. He jokes around and laughs and he's adapted and realized the fact that things aren't going back to how they were. Other people don't want to move on. That's why they don't like the way Gavin thinks or talks or how he gets bored and doesn't care to listen when people talk about the past. He can't stand it, and neither can I. Gavin shows it more, though, and his attitude towards things sparks arguments._

_Group Leader suggested that it was time to leave Gavin behind, but I think it's time we stop traveling with other people._

…

Things in Michael's life could be sorted into three categories—things he remembered, things he didn't, and the present. They were broad categories that could mean a variety of different things. His life revolved around the present and while he no longer lived in the past, it was there and the only thing he could do was not ignore it, but recognize that it was there and accept that it was the _past_. There were two categories for the past. Things he remembered included things he could exactly pinpoint as to happening and things he could remember clearly _when_ they happened. Things he didn't remember were memories that weren't quite all the way there, things that he couldn't remember how or when exactly they'd happened and things that had happened gradually over time. Not a lot of new things went into this category, as it was for things he knew had happened, but the memories themselves were foggy. This mostly included things that'd happened right after the infection took hold, when Michael had trouble sorting one day from the next. Things he remembered, on the other hand, were things that had a bold, clearly recalled line of _happening_ and _not_.

He'd drawn a line between the past and present a long time ago, forcing himself to realize that _that_ was something gone, something in the past and _this_ was something happening right now, something that he needed to pay attention to. Drawing that line and realizing it was there had been the final bout of moving on, and from there, he'd learned to live in the present without ignoring the past.

Michael was a survivor. He'd survived the night everything had gone to shit. He'd survived being forced under martial law. He'd survived watching people he cared about die. He'd survived being so sick with grief that he couldn't get himself to do anything. He'd survived his city being bombed. He'd survived being shot at. He'd survived mourning and guilt and grief. He'd survived _this_ , this life that some others called post-apocalyptic. He'd survived all this, and he was able to keep going forward.

Those people—the ones on the streets, the ones living in the past—they weren't survivors. They were pieces of shit that fed off of pity that other people gave them. When Gavin had pulled him away earlier, he'd left the words unsaid that Michael already knew. They weren't going to survive. They were going to die. They lived in the debt of another person, relying on them for every single thing they possibly could, crying and whining when they had to do something for themselves. They were people who'd lost all humanity, people who relied on others, but only cared about themselves and got angry whenever someone told them to just grow the fuck up. They were all just groups of selfish little bitches who hid from everything they were afraid of and only banded together because they couldn't survive for themselves.

Humanity was an odd thing. If Michael had learned just one thing from all this, it'd be that people couldn't survive alone. He'd used to wonder what made his relationship with Gavin so different than the relationships within the groups, and then he'd taken into account what was right in front of him, and it was obvious. They could both fend for themselves. They could both hunt and fight and knew basic first aid and survival skills. They'd both adapted, leaving the past behind. When he looked at all the things they _could_ and _did_ do, he found the answer in what they _weren't_. They weren't together because they needed the other for resources. They could both survive alone if they had to. What made them different was that they traveled together because they genuinely liked each other's company. Michael knew _that_ was what set them apart. He had someone he actually _cared_ about, someone to hold real conversations with, someone he could rely on to be there. He'd come to the conclusion that that was what kept him close to his humanity, setting him apart from loners and people in groups.

He'd figured out that to truly survive and remain the same person as someone was before, they _had_ to find someone to actively fight for. It kept him from falling back into grief and despair, forcing him to focus on the present. Otherwise, life amounted to nothing because everything was done selfishly.

Needless to say, Michael had gotten so used to Gavin always by his side that any threat or thought of leaving him immediately made him anxious and afraid. He wasn't able to see himself surviving without him.

...

_July 16_ _th_ _, 2014_

_Entry 202_

_Gavin got into a really bad argument with the group today. I asked him today if he thought the two of us could break away from the rest of the group and just travel on our own. He said that'd definitely be for the best. The leader of the group wouldn't let Gav into the saferoom after his argument with him, so I stayed with him again. We waited for a while and then packed up and left without telling anyone. We covered more ground in just a few night hours than we had in a few days with the entire group. I think we're better off this way._

…

 _To survive, you need to find something to actively fight for_.

Michael had it written on the inside cover of his journal. Every time he looked at it, Gavin remembered a million different things, a million different memories, a million different thoughts, of fighting for someone at the expense of himself, of watching people he'd known die or worse, the day he realized that not knowing if someone was dead was worse than watching the life fade from them with his own eyes.

He liked the words. It gave what he'd done some sort of meaning, but sometimes, when he watched Michael write at night, all he saw was his hand writing those words over and over again and he wondered if he should really trust what his own eyes saw.

…

Gavin remembered the notice on the door.

_Dear Ramsey family,_

_We, the military stationed in Austin to protect you, are informed that a foreign person is alive and in your residence. At an unspecified time, we will be coming to take that person in for interrogation on suspected terrorism. Please remember that this is for your protection, as well as the protection of those around you. By doing this, we ensure you that the cause and cure of recent happenings will be found. We encourage you to turn the suspect into us as soon as possible, or you and the suspect will be subject to force. We discourage hiding or running, and doing such will only be met with punishment and we are not afraid to use violence against you and the subject. Below is the list of suspects informed to be in your residence:_

_Free, Gavin D._

_Thank you._

Gavin still remembered the notice on the door, and it still struck him with fear.

…

It was no surprise that there was a soldier stationed down here. They were probably below the barricade, or at least near it. As they approached a bend in the tracks, the daunting music and updates of a military radio drifting towards them, making them both stop for a moment and listen for voices. None were heard, leading Michael to believe that there was only one person up ahead. In a place like this, there was no place for Michael to hide and shoot while Gavin did the talking. They'd done things like this before, where they had to approach someone together, rather than just one of them. It wasn't too bad, since they outnumbered and out-powered a single person. Without a word, they continued on.

The tunnel was dark, save for Michael's shitty flashlight, and their footsteps fell on the pavement, seemingly loud in the now-silence of the tunnel. There was a light ahead, around the bend, and the radio had switched off, signifying that whoever was there had heard them or seen their shadows against the wall. Michael felt a sense of apprehension rising in him, and he found it odd, because he was practiced at this and one person, even a soldier, wasn't much of a threat.

They were waiting, a woman in uniform, an almost-bored look on her face. They rounded the bend and approached her, Michael eyeing the stairs behind her. This was the end of the line. There were no subway tunnels left to turn into from here. They just had to get past her and they'd be able to drop-off today and start heading home. She waited on the concrete of the boarding station, the platform above where Gavin and Michael walked the tracks, the lights lining the platform shining bright. Still, she pointed the blinding flashlight at them, forcing Michael to flinch.

"God _damn_ , lady. Put that thing away," Michael complained, raising his hands in the air to show he had no weapons. She just shone it at Gavin instead.

"Names," She ordered, looking them over, holding a handheld device handed out to all military personnel. Michael immediately recognized it as a look up and scanner.

"Michael Burns," Michael answered, beginning to cycle through the routine he and Gavin had set up for times like this. They were practiced at saying it and it came naturally every time.

"Joel Heyman," Gavin followed without hesitation. He changed his 'name' every time they went through this, and this was one of the times Michael had to fight not to laugh. He managed to keep a straight face, though and instead, panic rose in him when the soldier paused for a second, his panic met with words he feared.

"Funny accent you got there. You sure that's your name?"

" 'course, Miss," Gavin didn't break eye contact, and Michael could feel his heart thundering in his chest. It wasn't odd for someone to comment on his accent, since it was unheard of to see a foreigner, but it made Michael's heart jump. Last night, it'd crossed his mind for about the millionth time that someone might've finally noticed something was off. Gavin and Michael did everything to prevent Gavin from getting scanned, and not just because of the immediate consequences that followed. They prevented it as much as they could, resulting in Gavin only being scanned a couple times in the last year and a half, but every time they were cornered and escaped after Gavin testing positive, Michael still worried. It wasn't that he worried they'd come after them. He knew they would. And he knew they'd escape. They'd eventually give up. No, what he worried about was that _someone_ _somewhere_ was going to notice that _something_ was off.

One of Gavin's most obvious traits was his stupid fucking accent. It made him easily identifiable. It wasn't rare for people to comment on it, but the soldier commenting on it, as well as doubting Gavin's identity was more than a little off-putting.

"What are you two doing down here?" It was an expected question. People weren't generally allowed outside of city limits, and travelling from one city to another, halfway across the country and without permission from the ruling government, was something that could and would get someone shot. They were practiced at this, and this was something they were asked when confronted.

"We got lost down here's all," Gavin answered, easily, practiced, and with a convincing shrug. "Wanted to go for a bit of adventure and got lost down in the tunnels. If you'd just let us head back up, we'll get out of your hair."

There was no pause, "Come here, kid."

That wasn't right. No, that wasn't how things were supposed to go. The military was dumb, and Gavin could act perfectly. People believed mostly anything they were told. They had much more to worry about than a couple of guys walking around in subway tunnels. They were tasked with the responsibility of keeping an entire city safe, and their largest concern was keeping the infection out and under control, not a couple of stragglers who claimed to be lost. This wasn't right. She was singling Gavin out. Something was wrong.

It didn't surprise him. Gavin didn't look back at him as he nodded, climbing onto the platform. She focused on him, ignoring Michael completely, and he understood what was going to happen, and what he was supposed to do. His hands no longer shook, his eyes no longer watered, and he no longer had to steady himself as his right index finger felt the cool metal of the handgun trigger, only letting that feeling linger for a moment before he harshly pulled back the trigger, the shot echoing through the tunnels, loud and deafening.

He no longer hesitated, shooting again twice more, his aim exact as he put three bullets right through her skull.

…

_March 20_ _th_ _, 2015_

_Entry 13_

_I don't want to die._

…

_March 19_ _th_ _, 2015_

_Entry 617_

_Gavin and I got separated today. A hoard attacked us. He got blocked off from me and we had to split up and try to meet up later. Gav's fine, thank god. I am, too. He said he got a little banged up and had to bandage his arm. He also suggested we steer clear of any and all military so we don't attract any attention at all. I agreed. The place we're travelling in is dangerous. Everything's been left alone for so long that the infected have mutated a lot and no one's trying to kill them, so they're desperate._

_We've been out for a long time. It's been almost a month now. I'm hoping we can head back soon. We found a place to radio Griffon and Geoff last night. I left Gavin alone for a while to talk to them. Geoff said everyone's doing alright. They told us to be careful coming back, since security was bumped up recently._

…

"Search her."

Michael made no waste of time in getting up on the platform and doing what Gavin had said. He crouched beside the soldier's lifeless body, unbuckling the bag she'd had strapped to her, unzipping it and rifling through it. Sounds behind him indicated that Gavin was in the process of ripping out trackers from the scanner she'd dropped when she'd been shot and crushing them under his feet so they didn't work anymore. They'd learned how to do things quickly and efficiently. Michael went through her bag, gathering whatever ammunition he came across or any other supplies, only glancing over the papers she had in there. He'd nearly passed by it before he noticed the packet that'd been bound in a binder and laminated, leaving it looking much more official than the rest of the information she'd been carrying. He pulled it out, glancing over it before noticing a label in the top left corner.

His heart nearly stopped. His fears had been confirmed. This wasn't the only copy of it. It didn't surprise him that someone had finally noticed something, but he did find it surprising that of all things, this is what was being distributed to soldiers. Not even _he_ had ever seen this. And because of that, he was curious, and he suddenly felt like he _needed_ to know. Silently, listening to the sounds of Gavin tearing apart the trackers so they didn't work anymore, Michael shoved the binder into his own bag and stood up, not glancing down at the person he'd shot.

"Let's go," Two simply words, said by Michael, that they both understood. It wasn't just _let's get out of here_ , but also 'we have to go now and we need to hide and take cover', and Michael now knew they were in more danger than he'd originally thought.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael discovers after the previous run-in with the military that someone somewhere knows about Gavin’s immunity and he knows there’s nothing good about that, especially with the file he found on the soldier he killed.

…

_March 22_ _nd_ _, 2015_

_Entry 14_

_Something should've happened by now. It's not happening. Nothing's happening. I'm not sick. There's no fever. The bite isn't getting worse. I don't feel any different. Something's wrong._

…

Sometimes, Michael wondered if he valued human life less than he had before.

His hands no longer shook when he shot. He'd stopped trembling like that a long time ago. He'd also stopped having second thoughts a long time ago. Things were natural now.

That night came back to him, fresh in his mind, along with the surge of emotions, whenever he thought about killing people. Always, without fail, he had to remind himself that this was a different time and that certain things were necessary for survival, and for the survival of others. That person, that soldier he'd killed today, had probably had a family or someone somewhere, but so did Michael and when he thought about it, there was no reason to make a sacrifice of someone he cared about just to ensure that someone else, someone he didn't know, would be safe. He didn't excuse it. But there was no other way. It was survival.

Still, though, sometimes he wondered, especially with how quick he was to take someone's life. He didn't know what would've happened if he hadn't killed that soldier today, but from what she had in her possession, it wouldn't be good, and Michael didn't particularly want to find out. They knew. They'd noticed. They knew, they knew, they knew, and Michael was at a lost for what to do about it.

_[CLASSIFIED] Interrogation and information on Free, Gavin D. Transcript Copy #34_

Gavin didn't know, and Michael didn't know why he hadn't told him. Michael had never once heard Gavin say even a single word about whatever had happened when he'd been taken away. Just looking at the binder, at the title, took him back, though, back to feeling like a constant waste of space, someone who shouldn't have survived, to feeling like a piece of shit for letting those around him die. He remembered the dreams he'd had, the surge of emotions he constantly felt, a mixture of guilt, anger, and sadness, and never anything close to happiness or joy. He remembered Gavin staying up with him that night, staying in his room, a spare room at the Ramsey's house, just to make sure Michael wouldn't try to leave the quarantine zone.

He remembered staring up at the ceiling as Gavin suddenly fell quiet and Michael couldn't even hear him breathe. He remembered the footsteps, the voices, the roaring engine of the armored truck. He remembered glancing at Gavin and seeing no emotion in his face, as if he knew what was happening. He remembered everything clearly, from Geoff answering the door to wandering out into the hallway to see his former boss distraught and defeated as Gavin was shoved out the door, and then the silence of the next few minutes, until Michael had realized what had happened and broke down, thinking that everyone was leaving him and it was all his fault.

"Hold _still_ , goddammit. You're fucking squirming too much," Another night in an abandoned hotel, but it felt different to him. Gavin sat between his legs, two fingers pressed against the base of his neck, being almost laughably dramatic about the small cut.

"You bloody _cut_ me, Michael!"

"If you'd stop moving around so fucking much, maybe I wouldn't miss. Sit back," Michael's thoughts weren't where they should've been. Gavin did what Michael told him to, sitting back against his chest, slumped slightly forward. Michael hesitated and then realized that he couldn't leave Gavin's hair half-way long and resumed what he'd been doing, sparing a glance at the bag he'd shoved the binder into.

He felt guilty. There were no secrets between him and Gavin. It was hard to maintain being close to someone and have secrets, so Michael was just open about everything . He remembered how angry he'd been upon finding out Gavin was infected, how he'd been furious because he hadn't told him before. This was something much more personal than that. Whatever was in that binder wasn't pretty. It was evidence against Gavin, evidence that had been issued to military personnel, and something Gavin had never spoken about. Whatever had happened and whatever was written in this transcript was something he obviously didn't want to revisit, and Michael respected that, even if he was curious. He felt guilty, having this binder without Gavin knowing. If he didn't want him to know what had happened and how he'd escaped getting deported, then it wasn't for him to know. But he still couldn't bring himself to abandon the transcript.

He glanced at his bag and the incriminating evidence he knew was inside and sighed. He didn't know what to do with it. Reading it felt like an invasion of privacy and he knew he'd regret throwing it out. He couldn't read it without Gavin knowing. He couldn't bring himself to. He was curious and whatever was in there might help them, but he didn't even want to look at it.

Panic gripped him again, just as it had in short bursts ever since the encounter today. He couldn't convince himself that they _didn't_ know. There was too much evidence, with Gavin having recently been scanned and all. There was absolutely no reason for a soldier who worked halfway across the country from their home city to be carrying a transcript of Gavin's interrogation if he wasn't suspected of something. His hand slipped and he couldn't stop himself from shaking for a moment, the blade of his scissors pressing against the skin of Gavin's neck again. They knew and they'd be looking for them, and all Michael could hope was that they'd get back home and things would calm down and they'd just presume that something had happened to them.

"Sorry—" Michael apologized as Gavin jerked forward, pulling him out of his panic. He realized he'd let himself get distracted and pulled Gavin back against him by the shoulder. "Stop moving."

"I wasn't!" He insisted, sounding more annoyed than usual.

Michael shook his head, setting the scissors down for a moment as he tried to gather himself. In the silence, he touched the skin on Gavin's neck, his fingertips ghosting over the outline of a purple bruise, usually partially hidden by his hair, since Gavin was too much of a lazy shit to cut it unless Michael did it for him. "These are dark," He commented, swiping his fingers across it. "Hopefully no one thinks they're signs of an infection." Under his fingertips, Gavin laughed, the thought of that probably ridiculous. "People are stupid shits. I should've been more careful with you."

"They'll fade soon," Again, Gavin relaxed against him, clearly trusting him again. "Careful's not as interesting or fun, anyways, is it, Michael?"

Michael just put on a show of scoffing and returned to what he was doing, pulling and cutting Gavin's hair until it slightly resembled the length it was before everything had gone to shit. It was odd—looking at how much everything had changed and then remembering it'd only been three years. Neither of them had aged much, honestly, and they didn't look all that different. He couldn't say the same for others, some of whom looked as if they'd aged twenty years in just a few months. It didn't seem like three years. It felt like ten or twenty. Every day was long and Michael could no longer waste even a single moment of it. Constant danger was a grim reminder of that. Entire cities had been decimated and over fifty percent of the world's population had died in three years. And yet, people still hung onto the hope that things would go back to being the same.

A cold chill bit at him, making goose-bumps rise on his skin. He suppressed a shiver, knowing in advance that it'd be a cold night and that he probably wouldn't be getting too much sleep. They could've travelled into the night and made it to where they were set to drop-off, but they'd decided against it after what had happened earlier. They had to keep low and not cause any sort of commotion within the city. Under normal circumstances, that wouldn't be too hard, but they couldn't move very fast, so they had to adapt to current conditions. The place they'd found to stay in was even more run down than the last, with windows missing and chunks of wall, floor, and ceiling missing in every room, exposing them to the cold of the outside.

"Let's get back home before winter comes," Gavin suggested, having felt the same cold wind he had. Winter was another reminder that it'd only been three years. They could survive with no problem most of the time, but in the winter, things were hard and it was difficult to get used to. Prey was scarce. Rations were low. Influenza and pneumonia were deadly and rampant. It was cold and people froze to death. Even for them, things were ten times worse in the winter than during any other time during the year.

Michael hummed an agreement and brushed Gavin off, having finally finished without cutting him anymore. He leaned forward and against him, draping his arms around him and letting himself relax for just a moment. In that instant, he thought about what it'd be like if he were to be on his own, and once again, he came to the conclusion he always did. He wouldn't be alive if he were left to survive alone.

…

_March 29_ _th_ _, 2015_

_Entry 15_

_I'm immune._

…

Gavin remembered a lot of things, too.

He remembered the things he read about in books, things dealing with medicine and science, things he hadn't known before. He remembered the number of freckles on Michael's face, as well as the number of teeth he had, among other seemingly insignificant things. He remembered the exact path back to Austin and the exact paths to the other cities they'd travelled to. He remembered exactly how many people and Infected he'd killed and how many he'd watched die. He remembered the interrogation and finding the note on the door before the interrogation, and he remembered exactly how he'd manipulated people in order to get out of there.

Things that he remembered but didn't talk about often made reappeared in his dreams. It'd been three years, and he still dreamed almost every night of people he remembered so vividly and the day he'd lost everything he'd worked for. Forgetting was neither easy nor useful, so he didn't bother trying to forget, instead opting for just not saying anything about it.

On that day, three years ago, after dragging Michael to the safehouse, Griffon had held Gavin in her arms, tears running down her face, telling him that he was just in shock and that he wasn't heartless for not being able to cry and that he'd come out of it soon. Three years, and Gavin was still waiting to come out of it.

"Maybe you're just different," Geoff had told him that night, after everyone else had finally drifted off into a fitful sleep.

"I want to cry and be sad just like every other damn person."

Geoff had then told him, without any hesitation, "If you'd fucking cried and been like everyone else, we'd all be fucking _dead_."

And it was true. He knew it was true. But he still took no pride in that. He still viewed it as killing his best friends, people he'd loved, without hesitation, even though he _knew_ for a fact that those people were no longer there and no matter what anyone else said or did, he'd always see it like that, even if it'd meant that he'd saved others.

…

_April 2_ _nd_ _, 2015_

_Entry 631_

_I'm angry._

_I haven't been this angry in a long time. He made a promise to me. I made a promise to him. And he didn't tell me. Gavin's a goddamn lying piece of shit. I hate him. He lied to me. He knew he was infected and he didn't tell me. What was he planning on doing? I'm not going to be able to kill him, just like I wasn't able to kill anyone else I knew. What a fucking piece of shit. He expects me to believe that bite's two weeks old. No one survives more than three days. There's no way anyone could go two weeks. I don't know why he's lying or what he's doing but I'm so fucking angry and I don't want to talk to him or see his goddamn face and I want him to leave me alone and go away and I'm angry I'm so fucking angry I can't hurt him or leave him_

_I hate him. I fucking hate him. I don't know why I chose such a piece of shit for my best friend._

…

_April 2_ _nd_ _, 2015_

_Entry 16_

_I don't know._

_When I got bit, it was weird. I didn't feel anything other than the physical pain of it. There was just—nothing. And now that nothing's happened, I can't sort things out. I guess I'm glad to still be alive? The people back home need me. Michael does, too. Now I'm just left wondering why it was me, of all people, who's immune._

_I guess I always sort of knew. I guess it really wasn't a surprise. Back when the infection was first around, I could breathe in spores. I can still do that, probably._

_Michael's angry. I lied to him. We made a promise that we'd tell each other if one of us ever got infected and then I didn't. He also doesn't believe that the bite's two weeks old. I thought he was going to punch me when he saw the rash today. Sort of wish he did._

…

Waking up from a nightmare was perhaps one of the worst things Michael had ever experienced. He could only compare it to drowning. It was like fighting, losing air and thinking he was towards the surface, confused and panicking and taking a deep breath of what he thought was air only to have his lungs fill with black, swirling water. He woke up covered in sweat, despite the cold that constantly blew through the room, with emotions still surging through him, as if he was still in the dream, watching it all happen again and again. His hands still felt like he was holding the gun, unable to keep his hands from shaking, the mangled and struggling body of the person he'd never be able to pull the trigger on under him as he held her down.

He tried not to be loud, trying to keep himself calm as he breathed hard, feeling a rush of anger and love and despair as the dream lingered in him. He could distantly hear Gavin asking him what was wrong and the hands shaking his shoulders felt too far away to respond to. Instead, he heard the same voice, frantic and screaming at him, telling him to fucking _shoot_ or he'd get bitten or killed, and the same hands covering his own, yanking the weapon from his hands, pulling the trigger immediately as he did. He heard the bang of the gun going off, just as clearly as he had that day, the explosion of sound and blood and the blood curdling scream as he bullet hit her right in the forehead, driving all the way through her skull, red blood mixing with red hair.

He shook hard, gasping for air, unable to breathe, adrenaline coursing through him. The flood of anger intensified ten times until it was burning hot and pumping through every vein in his body. He felt as if he were moving again, as if he actually had closed his hands around Gavin's neck, screaming and crying, calling him a heartless fucking piece of _shit_ and he had to remind himself that it was the middle of the night and he was sitting in bed, unable to move or speak and hardly able to breathe and he _wasn't_ back there, trying to choke the life out of his best friend, only to fall to his knees and howl at the loss he'd suffered.

"Li—" Was all Micheal could choke out. The rush was fading, the emotions settling back into memories.

"It's alright, Michael."

Gavin had pulled him against him and stopped shaking him and Michael didn't fight. Replacing the rush of emotions was guilt, just like every other time he remembered that night. Guilt, at not being able to pull the trigger. Guilt, at attacking the person who had. Guilt, at being a useless piece of shit on that night. The guilt would never completely leave, and it times like these that he remembered that. It'd always be there, always lingering in the background, guilt over _something_ , whether that was what he'd failed to do or what he had done. He'd already accepted that and moved on, but when he awoke from nightmares like this, the guilt constantly seemed to be shoving him down and crushing him under pressure and it brought him back to the time just after things had gone to shit.

"I tried to kill you," He breathed, repeating it over and over again. It was so fresh in his mind, the anger especially, the way his first reaction had been to try to kill Gavin and how they'd ended up fighting, until Michael had just collapsed over the dead bodies of his friends. "I tried to kill you. I tried—"

"It's alright. It was three years ago."

Griffon had told him he suffered from survivor's guilt. Michael sometimes liked to pretend like he didn't, but he knew it was there and that even now, he was still healing from it.

…

_May 6_ _th_ _, 2014_

_Entry 1_

_Michael said I should write in this. I don't know what to say._

_I don't know what happened today._

_There was this guy. I don't know his name. I don't remember. He knew me and Michael, but we didn't know him. I don't know what he was saying. He kept talking about stuff from before all this. He was real annoying. He talked about Ray and I got mad and_

_I don't know if he's still alive. I think he is. I hurt him real bad. There was blood everywhere and it's all over me and I can't get it off._

_I miss Ray._

…

_May 7_ _th_ _, 2014_

_Entry 2_

_Yesterday was weird. I don't remember too much of it, but I know I beat the bloody hell out of some kid who was a fan. Everyone's really the same. They're all boring and no one can do anything for themselves. They do this mad surreal thing where someone tells a story to make people feel sorry for them and then the next person shares a worse story to prove that they've suffered more. It's like a game. Pretty shitty game if you ask me. I tried joking around a little today and Michael was the only one who laughed. I'm thinking everyone's probably just mad at me for yesterday._

…

Michael couldn't sleep after that. He tried for hours, trying to clear his mind, but his thoughts kept drifting, mostly focusing on what he was hiding. His bag lay by the make-shift bed, unzipped. Gavin was asleep in his usual way, pressed up against Michael's back. It wouldn't be hard to just reach over and get the papers he'd shoved in there. If he didn't make much noise, Gavin wouldn't wake up and he wouldn't know. The only thing stopping him from doing so was his own guilt. He couldn't bring himself to throw the information out. He was too curious. Over the years, he'd learned to stay away from conversation that implied that Gavin was suffering. He sometimes denied it, and other times, he just didn't respond or changed the subject. He didn't like to talk about it, so Michael stayed away from that. One thing he learned from all this time was that people healed at different rates and in different ways. If Gavin didn't want to talk about something, Michael wasn't going to force it.

Because of that, there were a lot of things he didn't know about him. Michael didn't consider them 'secrets' or whatever bullshit. It was just something Gavin didn't want to share, and it wasn't Michael's right to know. He didn't pry, but he was still curious. The way Gavin thought, the way his decision-making process worked—it was all a mystery to him, and whatever Gavin was going through and had been dealing with for the last three years, could be something contained in those papers.

He didn't _want_ to do it, though. Whatever had happened when Gavin had been interrogated was something no one knew—not Griffon, not Barbara, not even Geoff. It was something Gavin had never uttered a word about other than 'bloody _hell_ your military is rough'. He didn't want to betray Gavin's trust.

Whatever was in there, though, wouldn't just satisfy his own curiosities. It wasn't _just_ a transcript of his interrogation. It was also information along with it. It would say why they were after Gavin and what they'd do with him and what they had on him. It was useful. He had to read it.

He'd tell Gavin in the morning, he promised himself, being careful not to make a sound as he reached inside the bag. He didn't even dare to sit up since Gavin's face was pressed against his neck again and sitting up would stir him. He didn't make a single noise as he flipped over the cover page, revealing exactly what he'd expected—a page full of professionally recorded dialogue from an observer watching Gavin's interrogation. He barely breathed and stared at the page, starting to read.

…

 

> **Transcript of interrogation**
> 
> Interviewer: [REDACTED]
> 
> Suspect: Free, Gavin D., Male, [REDACTED]
> 
> Suspected of: Terrorism, bioterrorism, series of murders, infiltration of the United States, forged papers
> 
> Connected with: Recent incidences of bioterrorism
> 
> Date interviewed: March 5th, 2013
> 
> Country/place of Origin: [REDACTED] United Kingdom, Oxfordshire
> 
> Citizenship status: Visa (Alien of Extraordinary Abilities), obtained to work at RoosterTeeth
> 
> Current Residency: [REDACTED] with Ramsey family in Austin, Texas
> 
> Notes: Suspect seemed docile and willing upon being taken out of household, causing detainers to not believe he needed to be handcuffed. Once out of the household and led a ways back to the armored car, he became violent and defiant, escaping from soldier's grasp twice. High priority.
> 
> **Transcript as follows**
> 
> _I for interviewer, S for suspect_
> 
> Suspect was put in an interrogation room for three hours and observed. Behavior was peculiar. Suspect paced for thirty minutes and then tapped on the one-way interrogation window, and then proceeded to sit on the interrogation table with crossed arms and stare down the interrogation window. Contrary to belief between the interrogators, he's rather intimidating.
> 
> [REDACTED] arrived at the three hour mark. Suspect was silent until instructed to get off the table. Suspect did. Interrogation started.
> 
> I: I was told you're defiant.
> 
> S: I have the right to an attorney.
> 
> [It should be noted that the suspect stared right at the interrogator with his arms crossed. Interrogator moves to handcuff him.]
> 
> I: Do you?
> 
> S: Fifth amendment.
> 
> I: You sure know quite a bit about the laws dealing with this sort of thing, don't you?
> 
> S: It's common knowledge.
> 
> I: You're different in person than from on the internet, aren't you?
> 
> S: I have the right to a lawyer.
> 
> I: No, you don't. This is a state of emergency. We're under martial law. You're suspected of terrorism. You have no rights.
> 
> S: [Suspect begins to raise his voice] Bullshit. You _idiots_ just stuck whatever charges you possibly find. Bloody _hell_ you people are insane. Murder? Terrorism? _Forged papers_?! I worked my ass off to get myself to this country and you call my papers _forged_? This is ridiculous. This isn't helping anyone. This isn't what your bloody country I supposed to be about. You're not even giving me the right to defend—
> 
> [Interviewer leans down and slaps suspect and grabs him by the collar, lifting him up. Suspect still doesn't break eye contact.]
> 
> I: You'd better watch your goddamn mouth, kid.
> 
> S: I'm no different from any other person who's come to this country on a visa.
> 
> [Interviewer shoves suspect back down. Suspect's cheek is red from being slapped.]
> 
> I: You aren't? My paper here says you're high priority. Do you know why that is?
> 
> S: I ran.
> 
> I: You ran. Twice. You're a manipulative little bitch, aren't you?
> 
> S: Cheers, Lieutenant.
> 
> I: You also have power.
> 
> S: _What?_
> 
> I: Don't pretend to be stupid. We both know that's just an act.
> 
> S: Being popular on the internet has no real power.
> 
> I: It does, though. The internet has more power than the news or anything on the television. If you have enough followers on the internet, they'll believe anything you say. You also have an interest in science, don't you?
> 
> S: Are you aware of how ridiculous you sound?
> 
> I: I've always thought British accents were ugly.
> 
> S: Cheers, Lietenant.
> 
> I: Answer the question.
> 
> [Suspect remains silent. Interrogator moves closer, draws back, and hits him, catching the side of his face and knocking him to the ground. Suspect doesn't try to fight as [REDACTED] continues to use violence to force him to talk. He stays silent as he's hit and kicked. It should be noted that the suspect still has handcuffs on. After a few minutes, the interrogator stands over him.]
> 
> I: You want to talk now?
> 
> [Suspect wipes blood from his nose.]
> 
> S: Not particularly. Bloody hell, I think you broke my nose.
> 
> I: The question. Answer it.
> 
> [Suspect is silent for a moment, continues to stare down interrogator.]
> 
> S: Yes. It's a hobby. Nothing more. Didn't go to university for it or anything.
> 
> I: Then what's this?
> 
> [Interrogator drops a book on the table. Suspect looks at it for a moment.]
> 
> S: That's exactly what it looks like. Are you blind?
> 
> I: Have you seen this before?
> 
> S: _I'm_ not the blind one. That's _my_ journal and I'd really appreciate it if you didn't ransack my studio to come up with all this ridiculous evidence.
> 
> I: Tell me what you wrote in there.
> 
> S: Why? You can just pick it up and read it. It's not that hard, really.
> 
> [Interrogator goes to suspect's side and slams his head down on the table. Suspect yells. Pause. Suspect appears to be gathering himself. Interrogator's hand keeps him down on the table.]
> 
> S: God _dammit_.
> 
> I: You ready to talk?
> 
> S: All I did was write down my observations about the infection.
> 
> I: You seem nervous.
> 
> S: You just beat the hell out of me and slammed my head down on a table. I'm in a little bit of pain.
> 
> I: Why did you write those things down? What purpose does it serve?
> 
> S: What purpose do you _think_? If I can learn how they act and how the infection advances, I can survive.
> 
> I: You breathed in spores.
> 
> S: _What?_
> 
> I: Spores. They're from dead Infected. They turn the air orange-ish. You breathed them in and nothing happened to you.
> 
> S: Fuck.
> 
> [Interrogator lifts his hand from suspects head. Suspect breathes hard. Interrogator dismisses him.]
> 
> S: Wait.
> 
> I: No.
> 
> [Soldier arrives to take suspect back to detainment.]
> 
> S: Barbara Dunkleman. I'll talk if you release her. Let her go and I'll do anything you want. I want her and anyone else from my company let free.
> 
> **INTERROGATION END**

…

Even the first part was a lot to take in. This was a side of Gavin Michael knew others hadn't seen much. It was the part of him that could manipulate people into giving him what he wanted with only his words. Where other people needed force and violence, Gavin could strike fear and intimidation into people by just _speaking_ in a certain way. Gavin had played a lot of his personality up for cameras and he was like that, sure, but videos hadn't showed this side of him, the cold, distant foreigner who could talk people into giving him information, nor had they showed the part of him that actually cared about people. Michael had seen both of those sides, and both of those sides showed themselves in this transcript.

He was done for now. He felt too guilty about having read just that part, and from the sound of it, things were only going to get worse. They'd had Gavin on fucking _six_ charges, and high-priority and he'd still gotten out. He was starting to understand why Gavin hadn't talked about this at all. Something really horrible must've happened that they'd released him, something so bad he didn't want anyone else knowing. The feeling of keeping something in that was so bad that he knew it would make people angry was a familiar feeling to him. Gavin felt guilty over whatever had happened. It was as simple and obvious as that and Michael didn't have to read more to find that much out.

He was wide awake now, and he itched to write his thoughts out. That'd become a way to help him sort himself out and figure out exactly what he was thinking and feeling. He found his journal and pen in the same bag, hesitating to make sure Gavin was still asleep before beginning to write. This was a more personal entry, one that he didn't particularly want Gavin to see him writing. In the silence and the darkness of the room, he wrote frantically, only able to sleep once he'd finished and had shoved everything back in the bag.

…

_October 3_ _rd_ _, 2016_

_Entry 1106_

_Some things I know about Gav for sure but he doesn't say:_

_Geoff and Griffon are his family_

_He actually thinks his stupid jokes are hilarious_

_He misses Ray and a lot of other people_

_He wonders where Dan is_

_He loves me_

_He'd do anything, no matter how horrible, if it was to save someone he cares about_

_Some things I wonder about Gav:_

_What he's going through_

_Why he didn't give up on me when I was grieving_

_Why he's immune_

_What happened during the interrogation_

_Why the military is going after him_

_Today was rough, to say the least. I found a transcript of Gav's interrogation in the backpack of a soldier we ran into. I haven't told Gav about it yet but I read the first part of it and I'm starting to see why he's hiding what happened._

…

As he held the thick stack of papers in his hands, Gavin remembered the note he bribed a soldier to take to Barbara.

_Barbara—_

_I'm a high priority prisoner. Gonna get you out of here, promise. Don't deny anything they say about me. Don't get yourself hurt. The more they think I did something, the more power I have over them. I'll get out of here, too. Tell the Ramseys sorry._

_—Gav_

And he remembered the fear that it wouldn't get to her, and the even worse anxiety that they'd already hurt her, and how he'd never wanted anyone to ever find out about this.

…


End file.
